


Game Over

by bostonfireflies



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, a lot of angst and teenage crises!, boston!, did i mention flirting?, video games!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bostonfireflies/pseuds/bostonfireflies
Summary: Two misfits, an arcade, and video games -- it's definitely not something either of them expect.(Modern AU)





	1. Wallflower

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all.
> 
> first time posting here on ao3, but i've been a long-time writer on FF.net and figured to go settle here for a while. this work of mine is something i've been doing for some time and i wanted to go ahead and share it to you all. i hope you like it!
> 
> (this has been posted on FF, but is slightly revised)
> 
> leave some feedback if you want, would greatly appreciate that :) thank you!

 

* * *

**RILEY**

It's official.

 _Triple Phoenix_ is a goner.

The machine has gone kaput. One of the wires freaked out and short circuited the whole system. Now the screen glitches and the bottom base of the machine starts to overheat whenever someone tries to play. Riley's told Henry about it, so he scribbled some words on a piece of paper and tacked it to the game's screen.

_OUT OF ORDER._

The words have been written in a fat, sloppy font. Typical Henry fashion. Riley frowned at the paper and shot a glance at Henry, who could only shrug.

"I'd lose all my fingers, and I'd still have better handwriting than you," she said dryly.

But he ignored her. "I called the technicians," and Henry patted the arcade machine twice. "They'll wheel it out by the end of the week."

And that was that.

Riley's not sure if anyone would miss the game. As far as she knows, it'll be wheeled out for good. Like, it'll-end-up-in-the-junkyard good. She should feel sad, but there isn't any emotion in her for a game that hasn't grabbed anyone's attention. Seriously. The only loyal audience it has are those who were obsessed with the television series, and that was directed to _children_.

It had some hype during its release (which was a year ago) but now it's faded out. Grayed. Kind of like _Pacman._

She's just kidding herself.  
Everybody loves _Pacman._

The damn machine is still sitting there at the edge of the arcade. It's the eighties model, and Henry says that it's only been repaired once. Riley's positive that it'll outlive her. Even with all the new releases, the game remains a classic. A retro challenge. Sometimes she even gives it a shot or two, but leaves it for the younger kids.

Not like it matters that she plays it. She's got the highest score in almost all the game systems.

Even _Contra._

Even that battle with Mike Tyson in goddamn _Punch Out._

Most of the scoreboards have her username at the top, and it's always a treat for her when she sees people trying to take the crown. (She watches them, as creepy as it sounds, and gets the satisfaction whenever they fail.) The only games she doesn't bother with are those huge, expensive App Stores. Literally. They've already wheeled in the physical, life-sized models of _Candy Crush_ and _Temple Run_ two weeks ago. God. Riley could just play the games on her phone for free if she wanted to.

On the bright side, they've got _The Turning._

It's probably the only game she doesn't mind wasting her coins on.

It's probably the only game _ever_ that she doesn't mind playing over and over again.

To her, _The Turning_ is an art. And it doesn't matter if she's unlocked all the characters and executed all the finishing moves and gotten all the achievements. She keeps on playing. She sticks to her favorite fighter, Angel Knives, always. Because she's her world. Her spirit-something. It's quite an obsession, because Riley has three different posters of her, a figurine of her, a phone case . . . She's even got a pair of slippers from her fifteenth birthday.

She's attached, but she doesn't care. The game is what Riley lives on. On the scoreboards, her username is ranked first.

In the world.

She doesn't play it as much as she's used to. Nowadays she just checks to see if anyone has overtaken her spot (which is highly unlikely, because the second placer is twelve thousand points behind.)

She frequents the arcade here. Mostly because it's the nearest one, and her cousin—Henry—works there for spring break so now she shamelessly freeloads from him whenever she visits. Sometimes Sam comes along with her, but he's got his own I'm-a-thirteen-year-old-boy priorities. Apparently.

Today it's just her.

Henry's gone for a thirty-minute break and he's assigned her to keep watch. The store's security cameras do most of the job anyway, so Riley decides to lean on the wall, listening to some mainstream music that plays out of the speakers of the arcade. Riley lets her shoes tap to the beat as she watches the assortment of kids bustling in and out of the doors.

And then she comes in.

She's the girl who tries to open the entrance doors — then realizes that they're automatic and now her hand is awkwardly reaching out at some pockets of air. She retracts the arm, walks in coyly, and places her hands in her pockets.

Riley subconsciously tilts her head.

The girl's position is from her right side, a few paces away, and Riley's only gotten a quarter view of her face. She has a green army coat that's irrevocably too big, and a pink hoodie's donned on her from the inside. The girl's young. Pale-skinned. And due to the distance, the only thing Riley can properly examine is the girl's slightly copper hair, tied casually to a ponytail.

Riley realizes that it's becoming socially unacceptable to be staring this long and shakes her head lightly. She pulls out her phone, tries to not look at her, but takes glances anyway.

The next time Riley looks up, the girl walks ahead, shuffling past the other folks with her eyes cast completely on the floor. Like she doesn't want to be noticed. Riley observes that the girl's heading over to her far left where _Triple Phoenix_ should be, and that grabs her attention. By the time the girl reaches the arcade machine her eyes are still glued on the floor— _does she even know that it's off?_ —and she fishes out some coins from her jacket's pocket before looking up.

She then notices the paper with Henry's poorly-written letters.

_OUT OF ORDER._

Riley can feel the scowl creeping unto the girl's lips. She could sense the seething air that pushes out of her nose. The toes that curl up bitterly within her shoes. Riley's tempted to smirk in amusement, but her lips form a straight line instead, because _get your shit together, Riley,_ and focuses back on watching the store like she's supposed to—

_Thump._

The noise isn't even that loud or head-turning, but it's enough to make Riley snap her attention back at the girl, her brown eyes layered with curiosity and mild annoyance.

So. She just kicked the machine with her foot.

Kicked is more of an overstatement — she aggressively _nudged_ it, which sounds almost adorable.

Well. Anyway. The girl's looking at the machine like it stole her cat or something.

Unsatisfied by the nudge, she tries to do it again.

And it makes a much louder thump. Like a pan-dropping-on-hard-concrete thump. Some pairs of eyes fly to her direction, and she sheepishly looks away, her gaze worryingly heading to the counter to check if she's been caught.

Riley scoffs under her breath and lowers her eyes to her phone.

_Dork._

* * *

**ELLIE**

Maybe she could take the cab back home.

 _Ha,_ Ellie thinks. _Like I'll use my cash on that._

She might as well.

It's the only time she has enough money for anything, and she can't even spend it.

The coins sit inside her pocket disappointingly. Like they've been let down. There's four of them — all quarters, and she was planning to use them up for _Triple Phoenix_.

That stupid, unavailable game.

Of course it wouldn't be working. Of course it had to be down the day she visits the damn arcade. Of _course._

As far as she knows, there isn't any other place that has the game in Boston. She could just Google the locations — then remembers that she's one of those endangered species who have old Nokias as phones.

Crap.

Public libraries have public computers, right?  
It's Sunday, she realized. The library's closed on Sundays.

Double crap.

She doesn't even recall ending up on the ground floor, maybe she was too crabbed to remember going down the escalator.

Whatever.

She doesn't care, because all she feels like doing is clenching her fists, her jaw, her eyes, her everything. She clenches them so hard until it hurts. She wants to scream.

But she doesn't want to scream over some stupid video game.

That stupid.

_Stupid._

Video game.

She shouldn't have bothered with it in the first place.

 _It's not a big deal,_ she tries to tell herself. But convincing only makes it worse. She relaxes the tensed muscles and opens her eyes, and she isn't even given time to brace herself when a group of younger kids barrel past her with toy airplanes _._ Ellie lets them knock her around and accepts their rushed apologies, watching as they climb back up the escalator with enough energy to power up a goddamn satellite.

Ellie sighs.

She's got an hour left before her flimsy phone rings, which means that she's got an hour before Marlene arrives to pick her up. Ellie considers her options, frowning at the thought of wandering around the mall. What the hell is she supposed to do in this human-infested labyrinth?

Ellie sighs again and eyes the escalator. Raja's Arcade is just upstairs to the right. She remembers seeing countless other video games that were there — games that were probably a hundred times better than stupid, out-of-order _Triple Phoenix._

She's got an hour left, she might as well put it to good use.

Before she even begins riding up the escalator, Ellie writes a mental note to herself for the tenth time that the arcade's doors are _automatic_.

* * *

**RILEY**

Above the music, she can hear shoes padding against the floor. It's nearing her, but she doesn't bother looking up.

"Are you sexting over there?"

She lowers the phone and rolls her eyes.

"You wish."

Henry walks closer, smiling. He's holding two cups of smoothies. "Any shootouts while I was gone?" he asks.

Riley puts the phone in her jeans' pockets. "None, unfortunately."

"Damn," Henry shakes his head in mock-disappointment and hands her one of the smoothies. As soon as she drinks, Riley's face contorts to a grimace. She shoots Henry a cold look.

He tries to be oblivious. "What?"

"This isn't mango-banana."

"It's _chocolate_ -banana," he says. "Get over yourself, kid. Everybody loves chocolate."

She rolls her eyes again and continues drinking from the straw. They settle for a while until Henry stands beside her, head tilted. "So how long you been leaning there, kid?"

"Dunno. A while, maybe?"

"Yeah? I'm surprised you ain't glued to the wall yet."

"I'm surprised your boss hasn't fired you for slacking on your ass."

That gets him good.

They continue to bicker, and Henry heads back to the counter before he actually gets fired, so now Riley's left alone with her unappreciated chocolate shake. The usual routine starts to sink in, and she's about to continue on sulking when the automatic doors slide open for the nth time this afternoon.

Only it's different.

Because the same girl from before steps back inside.

* * *

**ELLIE**

She feels so out-of-place.

Again.

Like she's the wrong color a kid would put on a tree.

Like everything else is bolder. Formed. Tangible.  
Like everything else makes her feel flat and bland.

She wants to turn back.

 _Don't be stupid,_ Ellie thinks. She silently breathes in the air and takes some steps forward. _I can do this._

Then the music enters her ears.  
Then the heater above radiates.

There are noises everywhere. She didn't even know it could be this loud.

Ellie fishes out the Walkman from her pocket and puts the earphones on. The Smiths give her a welcoming embrace as soon as she presses play. That eases some of her queasiness. At least the music helps soothe her.

It's warm inside. Too warm for that huge coat of hers, yet she insists on keeping it on. She's too abashed to care either way, and while the music glides across the walls, Ellie resumes exploring the arcade because her feet are going to places she hasn't permitted them to. From one place to the next, she shyly eyes posters and examines video game rentals near the counter where an employee stands, sipping on what seems to be a shake.

 _Jesus,_ she wonders, after a while of observing. _It's stranger the second time._

There's apparently a small replica of the solar system hanging from the ceiling, just below the ice hockey table where two girls are found playing. Ellie can vaguely hear the rolling bells of a game's jingle and the gunshots of a shooter. She moves again and rows of racing simulators are to her far right, where she can see teenagers competing for ranks.

Ellie heads to another column of arcade cabinets and considers her options.

Racing simulators. Claw machines with stuffed toys or candies. _Donkey Kong_ and _Dance Dance Revolution._ There's an abundance of options, Ellie realizes, all of which are either unappealing or too difficult for her. The innumerable amount of games leads her to wonder on how she didn't notice any of them the first time she arrived. It's not like it matters anyway, the coins in her pockets won't even allow her to try more than four.

Whatever. She could pity her underprivileged situation later. Ellie takes a turn to another row, eyeing the games from left to right until she stops in her tracks.

Because there it is.

The arcade machine is just across.

Her eyes trail to it timorously. The blueish glow of its bezel lures her in.

Ellie slowly walks over and stands in front of it.

* * *

**RILEY**

_The Turning._

Of all the games, she has to pick that one.

The girl's standing in front of it now, and Riley has a side view of her. The expression on the redhead's face is equivalent to someone finding the holy grail.

 _God,_ Riley thinks, _she's so weird_.

She's not even exaggerating it — the girl's looking at a video game as if she's never seen one before.

And it seems to annoy Riley rather than amuse her, because she doesn't understand how the girl's presence is distracting. She looks relatively plain—except for that heavy coat and outdated Walkman she's carrying—and Riley's seen prettier girls on the front of magazine covers and billboards. (Not like she's into them. God.)

Her concentration grows, and she doesn't realize that there are mild drops of sweat collecting on her forehead. Riley subconsciously wipes them away with a hand. If she's perspiring in just her light layers of clothing, then Riley didn't want to know how the redhead still manages to keep that huge coat of hers on.

 _Maybe she's just_ begging _for a heatstroke,_ she speculates. _Maybe she's just too timid to hand it over to Henry at the counter. Maybe . . ._

Riley should stop.

Whatever she's doing, it's getting unhealthy.

* * *

**ELLIE**

A sharp, bloodied font is plastered at the top of the marquee in white.

_The Turning._

The screen and side art implies that it's a one-on-one brawler, but the title sounds more of like a zombie game.

There's a coin slot in front of her, and Ellie warily takes out a quarter from her pocket. When she slides the coin in, the screen starts to glow fervently, music from the cabinet's speakers enter her ear cavities with a tribal-like drum sound.

Ellie pulls out her earphones and sets aside the Walkman. Her heartbeat feels like it's been synced to match with the rhythm.

Suddenly she's gripping onto the buttons and joystick, and the screen glows in white and whirls her into a wide jungle. She's seeing it at an eagle's view, and Ellie's eyes engulf the environment around her, nonplussed at the artistry of her surroundings. The drums grow louder that even the music of the arcade store seems to fade away. The game takes her higher in the air, and Ellie feels like a bird, flying above the jungle.

And then another flash of white passes Ellie's vision that she becomes temporarily blinded. When she reacquires her sight, a gigantic, ancient, mystical building looms over her as the drums continue to crescendo. Her eyes look up to notice the virtual sky, stunning as it is. Stretching endlessly across, the sky is blotched with blue and orange colors. Several dusky clouds with faded red linings watch as the cinematic view pans around the large superstructure. Ellie can hardly blink, her eyes are too busy soaking in the game's beauty. She didn't realize how advanced the graphics are now. What was that last game she played? Mario? Fuck, and she thought _he_ looked impressive.

Back to the game. Some words in sharp font have slammed themselves onto the screen. The booming bass vibrates the overlay, where her hands are gripping onto the buttons.

A deep, rumbling voice emerges and reads the text out loud:

_WELCOME TO THE SHADOW TEMPLE._

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

It's been an hour.

Riley went to do other things earlier, and has come back to find that the girl's still been playing the damn game with fervor.

She's pretty sure that the amount of sweat the redhead's producing due to that coat of hers is enough to fill a glass pitcher. Riley would be glad to take it off herself — then remembers that she doesn't even know the girl and that it would be rude to meddle with the choices of someone else's attire.

Then again . . .

She was certainly sweating, which made it clear that she wasn't very used to the warmth of the store. (The fact that she easily perspires makes her even weirder.) Riley tries to get a better view of her as inconspicuously as she can, and ends up a few yards away from the redhead, gaining a frontal view close enough to see her but still too far to make any solid descriptions.

There's one thing she notices, though.

A scar.

On her right eyebrow.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Ellie's about to play another round when she reaches into her pocket and finds balls of lint instead of quarters.

Crap.

She's all out.

Ellie notices how clammy her hands have gotten and wipes them on the sides of her pants. She doesn't acknowledge the skin below her collarbone, however, which is practically layered with thin sweat. Her lips are dry when she licks them and her eyes are all shaky. (She still sees bright flashes of colors from the game if she closes them.) The music starts to dig into her ears again now that the game's sounds have disappeared, and Ellie suddenly realizes how parched she is.

How long has she been playing?

She takes two steps back to try and regain more fragments of her conscience — but bumps into someone else instead.

Ellie whirls around.

A girl stands in front of her.

* * *

**RILEY**

The redhead mutters out some words.

"I'm sorry."

Riley doesn't recall approaching, but the redhead's voice is what Riley expected it to be: Young and uncertain and shy and tired.

Suddenly the girl's looking at her.

So Riley's looking right back.

She sees green eyes that are dark and soft, almost glassy, with lines underneath them. A faint scar— _whoa, where'd she get that?_ —slashes through her right eyebrow, with light freckles peppered across the cheekbones. The girl's thin and restless, it's like she can't afford to be comfortable. Riley blinks for a moment — thinking, then hides the look of absorption and feigns neutrality. She takes a small step away from the redhead and arches a brow.

* * *

**ELLIE**

_Dark,_ she observes. _Dark-skinned and dark hair and dark clothes and dark eyes._

"I'm sorry," Ellie mutters, after realizing her position. Her back faces the arcade machine while she sheepishly scratches her head, timid due to the girl's pair of brown, deepened eyes curiously watching her.

"No, it's all good," the girl replies, with lips that are full and soft. Ellie bites the inside of her cheek before trying to speak with the growing lump in her throat. "Oh, alright," she mumbles out, and it's enough to cast a silence between them.  
  
There shouldn't be one.

They're standing apart now, and Ellie can't find the courage to move away nicely.

"Are you . . . okay?" the girl asks.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?"

Ellie nodded faintly. "Yeah, of course."

The girl notices, however, that underneath Ellie's guise of casual demeanor is her red-faced, sweating physique. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she needed something to hydrate her, who knows how long she's been playing that fucking game.

"You know," the girl tells her, "if you want a drink, we've got some sodas at the—"

"No, God," Ellie says tightly, but she realizes how irritated she sounds (she's just abashed) and quickly apologizes. "Sorry, I'm just . . . I . . . "

And then her phone rings. Loud enough for both of them to hear.

Ellie takes in a breath.

_Oh, thank God._

She pulls out her cellphone to check — which was a stupid move on her part because now the girl knows that she uses a goddamned _Nokia_.

"I have to go." Ellie's voice is quick and uneasy, and she scurries past the girl before she even gets the chance to say anything.

_Jesus._

She should have just taken the cab back home.

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

That happened.

She feels irritated — both at herself for even _initiating_ a conversation and at the redhead for just generally bothering her. _She was even weirder up close,_ she thinks. How Riley managed to walk up to the girl is beyond her.

Riley's still staring at the entrance doors where the redhead just was, her trance interrupted when a boy politely asks her to move so he can play a round of _The Turning._ Riley allows it and sighs quietly to herself, annoyed. She pulls out her smartphone and starts to head out for some snacks when the boy from before suddenly calls for her attention.

"Did you forget this?"

She turns around. "What?"

"This," the boy says. He holds his palm out. "I saw it lying on the front panel. You own it?"

Riley looks. Her eyes widen.

The Walkman.

_Shit._

The girl left it behind.


	2. Downpour

 

* * *

**ELLIE**

Ellie lists down her options:

_1)_

_2)_

Shit.

It's late in the afternoon, Ellie's sitting on the edge of her bed with two hands covering her eyes. The open window beside her blows in a soft wind.

It should be soothing.

It's not.

Because she doesn't know what to do.

What _can_ she do?

Walk back to the mall?  
To look for that girl?

"Hey, sorry for leaving you so abruptly there, I didn't mean to go like that, I was in a hurry. But thanks for trying to offer a drink, though. I really appreciate your Christian-like efforts. Do you have my Walkman?"

Jesus.

She still doesn't know what to do.

Her options are little to none. It's already nearing dusk, she has no money on her to take a cab, and she's definitely _not_ going to call Marlene again to get her around the city — Ellie'd only feel like she'd give her more problems.

It's not that Marlene doesn't want to help her . . . she does. A lot.

She helps her out so much it's becoming jeopardous.

Before spring break it had always been Marlene, with her heavy eyes and weak smile, who would pick Ellie up from school in her car. Whenever Ellie saw her, it looked like she hadn't been sleeping. (Marlene looking decent enough was once every blue moon.)  Even the teachers, who have met Marlene during parent-teacher conferences, have expressed their concern. The whole thing was growing to be apparent. The look of fatigue on her face, the graying strands, the smell of cigarettes . . . Ellie told Marlene that she could just walk herself back home, that it would only take half an hour, but the woman was stubborn.

And now Ellie's too worried for Marlene to discuss about her Walkman dilemmas, so that means she hasn't got any transportation (or money) to get herself around. If she were to borrow cash from the others . . . _ha._ Slim chance.

She knows how money-conscious the kids are in her group home, it'll be a miracle if one of them actually _lends_ her some change.

At this point, panhandling looks like her only option. 

Ellie rubs her temples in frustration. The sourness is evident, she knows she isn't going to the mall today.

_So maybe I could try going back tomorrow . . ._

Well.

If she even finds some sort of transport.  
If she even manages to scrounge up some cash.  
If she even works up the courage to talk to _that girl._

Ellie sighs in frustration.

Shit.

* * *

**RILEY**

The redhead doesn't show up the following day.

Or the day after that.

Sometimes Riley could have _sworn_ it was her. Like, there were at least four redheaded girls who came in and Riley got so paranoid she had to double check. None of them had the eyebrow scar, though. Or the same shade of green in their eyes. Or the faded spatter of freckles . . .

Or the weirdness.

God.

This really is getting unhealthy.

She doesn't even need to be at the arcade — Riley could just hand the Walkman over to Henry and ask him to keep an eye out for the redhead instead. It would do her good to take a breather, after all. Riley's spent like, what — three hours so far at Raja's? She knows she needs a break but she can't bring herself to leave. And whenever Riley actually does, she'd just head to the food stalls near the mall's entrance to keep an eye out for the girl.

Riley's not sure if she's doing it to be a good person anymore.

Maybe she just wants to see her again.

 

* * *

**ELLIE**

At first Ellie was going to walk to the mall. On foot.

It would have taken roughly an hour.

She's even brought her backpack along too, the one she kept since grade school with its tired fabric and malfunctioning zippers. Packing for the walk was one of the easiest parts, even getting out of the group home wasn't as difficult as she thought it'd be. (She told Trevor that she was heading to a friend's house across the street to hang, and he bought it completely. _Ha._ ) Now Ellie's three blocks away and counting, her movements go briskly in the spring wind, her army coat flapping just behind her.

She's waited _two days_ for this, she needs to get to Liberty Gardens as soon as possible.

Just before crossing to the next block however, an object standing at the side of the road grabs Ellie's attention. She squints.

There's a lone bicycle ahead of her.

Ellie slows her brisk pacing and goes closer to examine. The bike is leaning on an electric pole, and it looks like something that hasn't been ridden in years. One of the handlebar grippers are missing, the spokes on the wheels are clearly brown from rust, and the saddle's fabric is riddled with moth holes.

The whole thing looks mildly distasteful, even for Ellie's low standards. She scrunches her nose in disapproval and notices the cardboard resting on the bicycle's wheel, some words appear to have been written in a sharp and bold font. Sharpie style.

_FREE TO USE - OK CONDITION._

Ellie surveys her surroundings, wondering if this was an elaborate prank set up by a couple of kids down the street. The folks around here are as inconspicuous as they can be, and yet a million thoughts begin swimming in Ellie's head — most of them rendering her situation as unsafe and risky.

To be honest, who can blame her?

She's alone, the bicycle doesn't even _look_ steady, and she may as well need another tetanus shot before touching the damn thing. 

A thought swims across Ellie's head. Soon enough, she's remembering her Walkman, the girl with the brown eyes, and the amount of time it would take to get to the mall and suddenly.

She's on the bicycle.

 _Crap_.

Making the first move is not going to be easy. Ellie makes an effort to take the first pedal, and the bicycle clumsily creaks forward like a wheezing locomotive. She loses her balance after two seconds and wobbles sideways. _Jesus._ Ellie levels herself before gravity owns her, takes in a deep breath, and grips the handlebars so hard her knuckles go white. Her experience with these things have gotten stale. She hasn't ridden a bicycle in months.

But she has no other option.

Ellie pedals again, careful this time, and the bicycle seems more willing to follow. It creaks and groans and wobbles its way forward like a malfunctioning robot, but it works. One grueling minute passes and she starts getting a hang of it. She's cautiously strolling past utility poles and small intersections with houses lining the sides. Five more minutes go by and the creaking reduces and her pedaling goes moderately faster.

Her anxiety starts to drain.

Ellie focuses less on getting the bike to move and starts eyeing her surroundings. The streets are quiet, the cars are few, and the spring trees look almost serene. The wind feels great on her face, and Ellie looks up to find the sky staring down at her. It's as blue as the ocean today, with birds flying west and the clouds moving east. A surreal feeling of freedom enchants her, because it's finally happening. She's outside on her own. The thrill of speed overcomes her fear, making her forget about the bike's rusting spokes, the creakiness and the constant wobble that—

One of the pedals snaps.

The bicycle veers violently to the side and Ellie stumbles to the ground.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Is that even yours?"

It's Sam.

He comes up with his curious eyes and leans next to Riley on the wall. She has the girl's Walkman in her hand, earphones are suspended in the air. "Some girl left it here two days ago," Riley replies. _Funny,_ she thinks, _those two days seem so long ago._

Still, Riley knows the scene verbatim — she can practically remember how the redhead looked before she went . . . the anxiety was plastered all over her. She also remembered that the girl's phone had been ringing, and Riley saw her pull it out: the dated Nokia. It was jarring to see such an old version in a world where highly-innovative smartphones were competing against each other — she hasn't seen those kinds of phones since she was like, seven.

"Oh," Sam speaks up, breaking Riley from her thoughts, "so, you just took it for yourself?"

Riley raises an eyebrow, "No, Sam. C'mon _,_ " and rolls her eyes. "Maybe she'll drop by, you know? That's why I'm here."

"Let me see that."

Riley unwillingly hands the Walkman over. It doesn't surprise her a moment later when Sam puts on the earphones and presses play. His face is calm for a moment, until the music fills his ears and Riley spots the corners of his mouth twitch up. She gives him a suspecting look. "What?"

Sam looks at her and scoffs.

"This song is totally from _The Breakfast Club._ "

"How the hell do you even know that? You're twelve."

" _Thirteen_." Sam blinks at Riley. "And Henry's old VHS tapes, he had _Stand By Me,_ too."

"Of course he would."

"Dude," Sam laughs and bobs his head to the beat. "This is probably the most eighties thing I've ever heard. You listened to the songs yet?"

Riley looks at the Walkman and shrugs plainly. "Just some."

She's lying.

She's listened to all of it.

The evening after the girl left, Riley's curiosity got the better of her. She'd been examining the device in her bedroom, playing the mixtape the girl had with the earphones already on her. Most, if not all, of the songs sounded twenty years old (understandable, since you didn't really expect modern tunes on a goddamn _Walkman_.) There were some she could identify — old songs from rock bands like Hum, Pink Floyd, Simple Minds, The Smiths — and others that she'd never heard of or were too bland for her that she had to skip. Riley didn't expect her music taste to be that bizarre . . .

It kind of just added up to the redhead's general weirdness.

"You gonna stay here for the rest of the afternoon?" Sam asks after a while, having already given the Walkman back.

Riley purses her lips. "I'll give it one more hour, I guess. Why, you goin' someplace?"

"Yeah . . . " he admits sheepishly, a hand on the back of his neck. " . . . to a friend's house. I'll be carpooling with him in a few minutes."

Riley sighs. _Of course._ How can she forget? The I'm-a-thirteen-year-old-boy priorities.

"Sam, your brother—"

"—already knows. Relax," and he jams his hands in his pockets. "Tell Henry I'll be fine, okay? I'll be back home after dinner."

 _After_ dinner?

"I'll tell him you got kidnapped and held for ransom."

" _Riley._ "

She rolls her eyes again. "Fine, whatever. Just don't get pregnant or something."

When Sam takes leave, Riley's usual sulking continues where it's left off.

For ambiguous reasons, she half-expects the arcade doors to open with the redhead dorkily stumbling inside.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Everything hurts.

Once Ellie's aware that her cheek is kissing the concrete of the sidewalk, she lolls her head away and groans. A minute passes before she musters up the energy left in her to get up. And getting up is _hella_ hard. Because Ellie's knees wobble and throb, the bottom of her palms are scraped, her side where she has fallen on is aching, and she's pretty sure that one of her shoes are fucking missing.

The fabric of her pants — her only pair of jeans that are comfortable enough to wear — have been slightly damaged by the uneven asphalt. She brushes off the dirt that has scraped her arms, puts her shoe back on, and chews the inside of her mouth. Because of the impact, some parts of her already reddened limbs have been scratched and bruised. At least the army coat prevented her from having any serious abrasions.

Ellie eyes the bicycle on the ground.

That  _stupid_ bicycle.

It's near the curb, lying horizontally on the concrete like it's mocking her. _I told you so,_ it seems to say. But Ellie's having none of it.

She walks over to the bike . . .

And swings her foot down. Hard.

_Thwang._

"' _OK CONDITION'_ my ass," she mutters. The kick sores her foot even more, but she doesn't care, it felt surprisingly good.

 _Right,_ Ellie thinks.  _The Walkman._ She hugs her sides to dull the pain and looks beyond the road.

On the bright side, it's saved her several minutes of walking.

* * *

**RILEY**

Henry pulls out a bill from his wallet and slides it across the counter.

"Shift ends in twenty," he says. "Mind gettin' me a smoothie? _Melon-flavored,_ you know me. You can go get yourself one too, if you want."

Riley gives Henry a neutral stare, wrinkling the five-dollar bill in her hand.

"You sure you don't want _chocolate-banana?_ " she asks dryly.

"Ha."

After a thirty-second conversation about the importance of having favorite smoothie flavors, Riley tucks the bill safely in her pocket and heads out of the arcade. The mall's peculiarly crowded for a weekday, Riley gives way for other people passing by and moves past the escalator. The smoothie stand is only a few yards away when a voice ropes her back.

"Hey, wait,"

And instantly, she knows.

The redhead.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Fuck.

Okay.

Yeah, it's definitely the girl.

She wants to laugh at her situation — to think that she rode a decrepit bike getting here, broke it, bruised herself, and _walked_ the remaining steps to the mall for a goddamn Walkman. Her feet are sore, her knees sting, and there are stubborn burn marks on her arms from the asphalt which she had hidden under her coat sleeves. She wants to tell the girl what the past days have done to her — that maybe if stupid, out-of-order, _Triple Phoenix_ wasn't broken, none of this would have ever happened.

But all Ellie can do is stare.

She hasn't thought of the next step in her plan after calling the girl's attention. (Hell, she didn't even expect her to turn around _that_ fast.) She swallows the block of ice in her throat and takes some steps forward. The girl does the same, her eyes gaining color the more Ellie closes in on her. The girl's wearing a black shirt and khaki shorts, her hair tied to a bun like it has been two days ago. She doesn't dress the same way Ellie sees other girls do, interestingly, with their skater skirts and cardigans and flora-based blouses and the air around them smelling like _L'air du Temps_.

She's different.

They're standing apart now.

So Ellie meets her coffee eyes.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Hi," the redhead murmurs.

"Hey," Riley murmurs back.

She's still wearing that stupid coat of hers.

Something's off, Riley can sense it. Her jeans look slightly frayed, her face is kind of red, and her overall appearance looks concerning. She looks like she got into a fight. Riley doesn't want to press, though. The last time she'd ask the redhead if she was okay, she ran away from her.

"You're from the arcade . . . right?" the redhead asks sheepishly. Riley's surprised that she even managed to start the conversation. "Two days ago," the girl continues, "I was there. And — and I'm sorry that I couldn't get here sooner, but I was just wondering if . . . "

She trails off like she always does, and Riley wastes no time in delaying what she's waited two _goddamn_ days for. She pulls out the Walkman from her pocket and nonchalantly untangles the earphones before giving it to her.

"Yeah. You forgot this," Riley says flatly, "here."

The redhead's emerald eyes gawk at the Walkman the same way they'd gawked at _The Turning._ Riley represses the urge to scoff. _God, she really is a fucking dork._

"Oh, man," the girl exhales in relief, taking the Walkman in her hands. "You've no idea what I've been through to get . . . Thank you."

Riley slides her hands back into her pockets and shrugs. "No problem."

The redhead looks back up at her. "Were you waiting for me?"

"I guess so," Riley replies. The girl gives a pensive look, like she's processing the fact that Riley had to wait in the mall for _two days._ "But it's no biggie, really," Riley adds, attempting to dissuade the look that was forming on the redhead's face. "I go here all the time."   

"Oh, I see."

And that's it.

They should be parting ways at this point, with the shaking of hands and the bidding of farewells. But there's another silence between them instead. And awkwardness. There's a lot of awkwardness, apparently. Riley's not sure when it will ever run out. The seconds are going by painstakingly.

Then it happens.

One moment Riley's mouth is sealed, the next she feels it opening to speak.

She tries to stop herself.

Too late.

"What's your name?" Riley asks suddenly. Blurting them out like they've been wanting to escape her mouth. _Shit,_ she thinks, _where did that come from?_ Her mind starts to go code red. She tries to calm herself, that it's just a simple question, that it isn't much of a big deal, and patiently waits for the redhead to answer her.

Only she doesn't.

That throws Riley off guard, because who the hell can't answer _that?_ She's left with the redhead looking uncouthly at her, her green eyes lowering and suddenly avoiding her gaze. When Riley realizes that there won't be an answer coming, she regains her composure before she'll make a fool of herself and attempts to reword her question coolly.

"Well . . . my name's _Riley_ , for starters," she continues, avoiding the urge to cringe. "I mean, I saw you playing that game in the arcade and"—her words stumble around, Riley can notice how increasingly uncomfortable the air gets—"you were, well . . . "

Riley stops talking.

Because the girl heads down the escalator without saying another word.

* * *

**ELLIE**

Stupid.

It's not enough. She says it four more times in her head.

Stupid decision.  
Stupid bike.  
Stupid mall.  
Stupid _fucking_ girl.

Ellie runs down the escalator and pushes past the people in her way, indifferent to their stares and judgments. She doesn't even look behind her to see if _Riley's_ followed up, because what's the point of it? Ellie's already gotten what she came for, she didn't need to entertain some question from that fucking kid. Knowing her name now felt uncomfortable, like she's holding something she's not meant to have in her hands and she doesn't know what to do with it.

She never even asked for her stupid name.

By the time she exits Liberty Gardens and walks out on the sidewalk, she can no longer ignore the strange feeling of guilt in her stomach. It's a different sort of remorse, too.

Because what is she even guilty for?

Not telling her name?  
Not taking the cab back home two days ago?  
Leaving Riley at that place for the second time in a week?

_Stupid._

She shouldn't have gone to the mall in the first place.

* * *

**RILEY**

Well.

That happened.

Again.

Riley doesn't even try to follow her downstairs anymore. If the redhead didn't want to, then fine. Whatever. Riley doesn't care. The girl was way too much for her, anyway. Why does she need to worry about someone who can't even talk properly?

She doesn't need to waste her time on some basket case who owns old Nokias and listens to eighties music and wears ridiculous, huge-as-hell army coats when it's hot. She doesn't need to wait two days for some weird kid. She doesn't need to know her stupid name or what stupid place she comes from. Riley's got other priorities.

Like buying smoothies.

And this time, she's doing things her own way.

This time, she's going to get mango- _fucking_ -banana.

* * *

**ELLIE**

She realizes that she's going to have to walk back home.

For an hour.

In the streets of Boston.

(Particularly, the southern area.)

Ellie's doing the brisk-walk method—running but not actually running—so effectively that she's knocked three blocks down in short time. It doesn't guarantee her complete safety, though. So Ellie already has her phone out, fingers ready to dial 911 if things go south. If anyone tries to snatch her up, then she's got her switchblade waiting hungrily for them in her pocket. She doesn't have an expansive knowledge on self-defense, but Ellie can deal with trouble if she's cautious enough.

What she can't deal with, though, is the approaching rain.

Ten minutes later, when the first drop hits her arm, Ellie assumes that it's her own sweat. But it takes about eight more raindrops and a darkening sky for anyone to convince her that she's gotten herself in the most shitty situation since the bicycle incident.

That's when lightning crackles the sky, and thunder booms in the distance.

Ellie looks up.

Shit.

There's a goddamn storm hitting Boston.

And she has to walk straight in it.

* * *

**RILEY**

They get inside the car as fast as possible.

"You good?" Henry asks, breathing heavily and checking himself. Both of their clothes have gotten mildly wet. (They've managed to get out of the mall just as soon as the drizzle morphed into a downpour.) Riley nods and fastens her seat belt. She's gotten the passenger's seat slightly damp.

"Let's get the hell back home," he says.

"Good idea."

The windshield is covered by droplets of rain, and the roof of their car's constantly making a drumming sound. Henry switches gears and moves out of the parking lot, making their way through the first street. Riley turns on the radio and sighs.

"Goddammit," Henry swears, activating the wiper blades. "The weatherman said sunny."

She scoffs and looks out the rain-spattered window.

"The weatherman's full of shit."

* * *

**ELLIE**

The weather is full of shit.

Of all the things she has in her backpack, there isn't a single fucking umbrella in it to relieve her situation. She's taken refuge at a nearby Korean drugstore, and the clerk is already giving her the look. (She can't really blame him, considering she's the one who's gotten the floor of the drugstore wet.) Ellie places her Walkman in the backpack and zips it up. She turns to face the clerk and gives a shy, apologetic smile to him.

"Sorry about that."

The man only nods his head.

Ellie faces back to the doors, takes a deep breath, and braces herself.

Cold is the first thing that comes to her head. Like, really, _really_ cold. The storm's winds are biting at her and blowing her around. Had it not been for the coat, she'd be freezing by now. Ten seconds have gone by, Ellie's scalp is already drenched. The rain is definitely torrential by this point, it's like a thousand Nerf bullets are pounding down on her.

_Jesus._

The weather is so full of shit.

* * *

**RILEY**

"Wait. Henry, hold up,"

The car starts to decelerate.

"What?"

The rain pelts against the windshield, and Riley squints her way through the mass of liquid pouring down on the car. She's spotted a figure ahead of them, walking hurriedly on the sidewalk.

"What, them?" Henry asks. "They a friend of yours?"

For a second, Riley assumes that it's just some other person who was unfortunate enough to catch the rain while they've been walking. But the figure's shape looks familiar. Too familiar. Riley's hoping it isn't who she thinks it is.

That's when the wiper blades sweep the rain off the windshield to afford a better view.

_Shit._

The figure is wearing a green goddamn army coat.

* * *

**ELLIE**

There's a car honking behind her.

Ellie just ambles ahead on the sidewalk, not looking back, with her soaked clothes sticking uncomfortably on her skin like glue. The only thing she wants is to go home, but she doesn't know how or _where_.

Her vision is so limited that she has to keep an arm out to survey her surroundings. She takes shelter under store roofs and bus stops every now and then, but it proves minimal comfort. The storm just keeps going. Raindrops pour relentlessly from her scalp and roll towards her cheeks that her eyes are red and stingy from the water. She knows she can't make it far if she keeps this going. She can't beat the rain.

The car honks again, louder and closer — Ellie realizes that it's possibly for her. _Could it be Marlene?_ she thinks, and a creeping trepidation settles on her stomach. She can't imagine the look on Marlene's face if she sees her in this situation. Ellie looks back, hesitantly, and sees an old Legacy nearing the sidewalk. _Not Marlene._ It slows and stops by the curb when it gets close enough.

That's when one of the side windows starts to roll down. A head pokes out.

Ellie stops walking.

She sees her. Even with the blinding rain roaring and crashing and flailing, she sees her.

Dark skin, dark hair, dark clothes, and dark eyes.

* * *

**RILEY**

The redhead's soaked to the bone.

For a few seconds, the girl's just standing there. Her green eyes piercing through the torrential rain as she hugs her sides, alarmed and confused. _She looks smaller out in the open,_ Riley thinks. Like she's more vulnerable and fragile. The storm, however, continues crashing down on the redhead because it doesn't care. Riley can feel the gushing winds and rain sweep in through the open window,  _how long has this kid been out here?_

The redhead's still stuck in place — with her hands tucked to her side, her clothes heavy and dripping. Riley notices how much the girl's shivering.

And then suddenly Riley's out of the car.

It's cold as hell, Henry's yelling something she can't hear, her black shirt is soaked, but she doesn't care. Riley heads to the car's rear door and holds it open for the redhead.

"Come on," she urges, her voice fighting through the rain.

The girl doesn't even hesitate.

* * *

**ELLIE**

It's so warm in here.

"You okay, kid?" the young man asks.

"Yeah."

Ellie practically _wiggled_ herself in, and now she's gotten the seats wet. She tries not to rest her back onto the spine of her own seat, since it's the only thing that hasn't been lathered yet with water. The driver eyes her concernedly in the mirror, but Ellie's too worried about the mess she's made in his car.

"Sorry for the mess. . . " she says softly, tone apologetic.

He gives her a polite smile. "No, no, it's all good. Make yourself comfortable, kid, nothin' a little drying won't fix."

She still doesn't lean back.

The young man exhales and shifts gears, bringing the car back on the road. For a moment she feels relieved, internally _joyous_ now that she's finally out of the rain. The warm air of the heater comforts Ellie enough that she closes her stinging eyes to rest. She breathes in the silent air and loosens her shoulders . . .

But then Ellie realizes that she's in a car with _her._

Her stomach churns.

_Of fucking course._

As if the past events with her aren't embarrassing enough, Riley has to see her like _that._ Drenched in the rain like she just came out of a swimming pool. She can't help but wonder — what did Riley think of her when she saw Ellie walking in the middle of a storm, looking soaked and sickly and shivering?

Helpless? Pitiful?

Is that why they picked her up?

Ellie slowly breathes in the warm air of the car. At this point, she's not sure where her dignity is.

* * *

**RILEY**

It's abnormally quiet.

And Henry's giving her an accusing look.

"What?" Riley asks softly, voice slightly irate.

"There's an umbrella in the trunk, you know."

How the hell is she supposed to know that?

Before Riley starts another argument with him, Henry's eyes dart to the rearview mirror to look at the girl.

"Sorry, kid, where are my manners?" he says. "Name's Henry. Riley said you a friend of hers?"

Shit.

The two girls share uneasy glances.

"We bump into each other in the mall sometimes," the redhead replies coolly, as if she's correcting Henry. (Of course, it's not like she'll tell him that she basically _runs_ away from Riley whenever they see each other in the mall. That would be different.)

Henry lets out a dry chuckle. "Lucky she found you out there in the storm, then. What were you doing outside? It's raining like hell."

Only the silence answers him, and the radio's songs lightly dab the air. Henry gives Riley an uncertain look, she shrugs back like she's used to it.

Instead, the redhead asks a question to break the ice.

"Do you know where to drop me off?"

* * *

**ELLIE**

She gives Henry the directions.

It grows quiet when they take her there, and it gives Ellie the opportunity to observe her surroundings without having to think of smalltalk. The rain is still bothersome, but thanks to the heater, her clothes are starting to dry. Ellie unties her ponytail to fix her hair, noticing after a few moments that Riley's been looking at her in the mirror.

Her brown eyes hurriedly move back to her smartphone as soon as Ellie sees her. _Huh._ Before she can think about it, Henry begins to speak up. "You should dry off soon as you get home, kid. Don't wanna be catching no cold, yeah?"

Ellie nods earnestly at him in reply. "I will. Thanks, Henry."

She has to admit, though, they're pretty good people. Taking her in, driving her back home — even Riley's been nothing but considerate. She's gotten herself soaked to get Ellie in the car. Hell, she's been waiting at that mall for hours, days even, and what does she get? Nothing. Not even her name. And Ellie had the nerve to call her  _stupid_  just several minutes ago.

A mild pang of guilt hits Ellie because of it.

By the time she's fixed her ponytail and checked for her Walkman (because she's sure as hell not going to forget it again), they roll into Blue Hill road. Ellie looks for the two-story house, with its blue roof and off-white paint that's been starting to peel off since last summer.

She finds it. It's just to the far right.

"There," Ellie says, pointing it to Henry.

* * *

**RILEY**

Riley looks at the establishment beside them, fascination piqued.

_She lives in a group home?_

A decorative sign stands at the front of the house, with letters painted in a curvy, homey font. _Tarly Homes for Children,_ it says. _Since 1978_.

Huh.

She's an orphan.

The house is of late twentieth-century design, no doubt, with a wide space and and an apple tree standing next to the house's right. The place looks like it can keep a number of five at the most, but she doesn't feel like asking the redhead to enlighten her. They've hardly talked to each other since the mall.

"Alright," Henry says, making Riley focus her attention back. "We're here."

Right. She turns to Henry. "Did you open the trunk?" she asks.

"Yeah. Get the umbrella this time, will you?"

Riley takes in a deep breath, opens the car door, and gets to the trunk as fast as she can to grab the umbrella. The whole thing is done in under ten seconds, Riley's ecstatic to see that her shirt is only mildly wet.

She opens the rear door.

The redhead says her thanks to Henry before wiggling herself back out. Riley holds the umbrella firmly in her hand and swallows a lump that has grown in her throat. Jesus, is she going to have to _usher_ her now? The umbrella's ridiculously small for two, they're going to have to walk there like a pair of bunched-up sardines. Great.

The walk to the group home is silent. Riley bites her tongue the whole time, forcing her eyes to look straight ahead.

It takes ten years.

By the time they reach the front door, the redhead turns around to face her. Large, green orbs that pierce through the same way they did earlier. The way the girl's looking at her makes Riley think that she's about to say something. She stands there and waits, even if it takes away seconds from her life.

But the redhead turns back forward, hurries to the front door, and opens it without uttering a word.

_Of course._

Riley scoffs softly in disbelief—because what does she expect?—and turns on her heel to head back to the car.

A single word ropes her back.

"Ellie."

Riley turns around so fast she practically spins. She finds the redhead inside the house, the door's partly open to reveal half her body. The rain has blown her words to make them sound soft, but she heard it.

She just doesn't want to believe it.

Riley blinks and stutters. "What?"

And the girl smiles faintly.

It's the first time she ever does.

"My name is Ellie."


	3. Roadblock

* * *

**RILEY**

She stands there for a moment, not speaking. She's playing out in her head how she'd say her name. How it would sound like. _Ellie._

Huh.

It's a pretty cute name for a pretty strange girl.

Riley needs to stop herself from smiling in disbelief, so she breaks out of the small trance and looks back at the redhead. She's standing there, looking as tiny as ever under that doorway.

 _This is weird,_ she realized, _this whole scenario. But in a good way._

The thunderstorm was starting to be a blessing in disguise, ironically. Because Riley never thought she'd see her again. It was too unlikely. After having that moment at the mall which was probably her most uncomfortable conversation she's ever had to experience, she's surprised to have even gotten this far.

"Listen," Riley slowly speaks up, looking apologetic. It's her shot at trying to have a legitimate talk without fucking up. She doesn't know where she's going with this, but she can at least try. "Back at the mall? I'm sorry, if I made you ... you know. I just—"

"No, it's not you," Ellie stops her timidly, and she bites her lip, like cutting people off isn't something the girl's done before. " ...I'm just not good with people."

And for once, Riley gets it. She understands. She remembers the first impression she had on her, _the weird kid,_ and something similar to guilt seeps into her for judging her so harshly in the beginning. Ellie doesn't seem as bad as she used to think. She's just more... reserved, that's all. Introverted in a sense.

"Well... I guess you can consider this as progress then," Riley says, and progress it is, because _h_ _oly shit, this is the longest time we've talked to each other so far._

"Yeah." She lets out a coy laugh. "Progress."

Time stretches a bit, and there's thunder heard in the distance. The sound of rain hitting the concrete wanes over them.

"I think you should head back," Ellie says after a moment, looking up at the sky like she needed to convince herself that raindrops do indeed fall from clouds. "Before the storm gets, uh, stronger."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty soaked already," Riley gives a warm, lopsided smile. "And s'alright, I don't think it can get any—"

Henry starts honking.

Riley looks back, she sees that antsy look of his and it amuses her how impatient he can get whenever it rains. She remembers someone telling Henry once about the horrors of hydroplaning, and now he's scared shitless whenever a storm comes. It gives her a good laugh each time she recalls it. Riley gets the memo, though. Limited time. She faces Ellie with the same small, crooked smile, and they both nod heads to each other.

"Have a safe trip back," the redhead says with some sort of finality. Riley's almost sad about wrapping up the whole thing. She doesn't want her knowing that, unfortunately, and acts casual. (Which is funny, since it's hard to act casual with the rain crashing relentlessly on her, but whatever.)

"Yeah. See you around, Ellie."

 _It even sounds weird saying her name for the first time._ Not the bad kind of weird — but weird nonetheless. She secretly wishes that this won't actually be the last time they get to talk to each other, because she just wants to see her again somehow. Riley can't figure out where the need is coming from.

The two girls exchange final looks before Riley turns around and starts heading back for the car. Her socks are squelching inside of her sneakers, but she doesn't seem to feel the discomfort. When she walks, it's like she's oblivious to the rain and everything else. What she notices, though, is Ellie's voice. It catches her attention again for the nth time.

"Thank you," Ellie calls out, as soon as Riley's reached a reasonable distance away from her. Her voice battles with the roar of the rain, but she heard it. Riley looks back and sees her again. The redhead's eyes seem lighter. Her whole expression seems lighter, actually, and it's making Riley feel tingly. The good sense of tingly. The kind of tingly that makes her satisfied and content from all the turmoil she had to go through today.

Because of it, she smirks back at her.

_No problem._

And as she returns back to the car where Henry's waiting, the small smile Riley's tried to hide earlier has managed to sneak back and linger. She lets it stay, she doesn't care.

That thank-you actually felt genuine.

**x**

The car door closes. Henry's antsy attitude ensues.

"Shit, kid. Took you long enough."

"Sorry for the wait."

"Eh, s'okay." Henry takes one look at her and scoffs. "Got yourself drenched again."

"Yeah, Henry, _I've got eyes._ " She buckles up her seatbelt. "We just had a chat."

"Mmm, about what, Sunday football?"

Riley rolls her eyes. With all that sarcasm, Henry never really got that I'm-your-disciplinary-guardian thing right. He was too much of a geeky cousin.

"This'll be a bitch to dry up, no doubt. Especially these car seats and floorboards..." He tuts, then changes gears so the Legacy gets in motion. "I have no idea why you'd have a chat out in the middle of a storm as bad as this, kid. Shit, you could've just texted each other on _Messenger_ or something."

Riley moves around in her seat. "She's got that old Nokia, though," she murmurs.

"What?"

"Nothin', _boss_." She turns on the radio and leans into her seat. "Let's just head home, I hate sitting on my ass wet."

* * *

**ELLIE**

Riley's words are repeating in her head.

_Progress._

Yeah.

At least there was progress.

It's been a while, and she'd gone upstairs earlier to dry and change into more homey clothes, AKA, a tank top and shorts. Ellie's waiting in the laundry room now, listening to the low hum of the dryer which is filled with the wet clothes she'd worn. There's a small window in the room so she looks out to view the outside and _jeez_ , it's probably still storming like hell. The rain's pretty much having a fit. It pours relentlessly on the roof that the constant patter of it is audible. Her mind is sort of fuzzy and throbbing from everything, so Ellie starts tapping mindlessly with one foot, allowing herself to lean on the wall to process the things that she had to go through today.

She's probably filled up her outdoor quota for the rest of the month.

_That's a fucking achievement._

Ellie looks up at the ceiling and grips onto the Walkman she's been holding in her left hand, just to validate that she has it this time. A flashing memory passes by her conscience — it's Riley. From earlier today, handing her over the Walkman with a sheepishness that didn't suit her. The image sits strangely in her head and it makes Ellie think about the encounter for some time before she grabs the dangling earphones from the Walkman and wears them on. She's been wanting to listen for so long that she presses the play button and waits. When the music erupts with energy, she just smiles with complacence and simple joy.

Hell. Yes.

It's been a while since she's heard her own music, and it just makes everything around her feel so much more better. She can hardly believe she survived that long without it. She scoffs to herself, _the shit I do for you_ , and squeezes the Walkman, closing her eyes as she lets herself breathe, to recollect her thoughts.

_Man._

Today was fucking exhausting.

It's Pink Floyd that's playing, and it kind of makes her crave for something fizzy for some reason. Like a soda. A soda would be really good right now. It would probably clear the fuzziness out of her head, too. Ellie realizes that it's going to take a while before her clothes would be fully dry, so she takes that as a chance to leave and starts heading towards the kitchen in the fridge.

She approaches the room, enters, and finds a woman leaning by the counter.

Out-of-place. Tall. Unusually calm.

Marlene.

_Crap._

There's an unwanted silence. Ellie's startled for a moment and takes her earphones off. She tries to speak, but the words are starting to jumble in her mouth.

"Oh. Hey," she greets, not-so-casually. "I ... thought you'd be coming tomorrow."

Marlene's lips are thinned. For the most part, she was always a woman who carried around an air of sternness. Her sharp-featured, angled face of forty-something seems to look better since the last time she saw her, but there's a certain tiredness in her demeanor that never seems to fade. From the looks of things, she's been expecting Ellie.

And the redhead's not liking it at all.

"I had some time to visit. Trevor told me you were off," the woman replies in a somewhat fixated manner, her eyes are on Ellie, scrutinizing. They squint a little. "Heard you coming inside a while back. Where were you?"

_Christ, not this again._

Ellie gulps down some nervousness, trying not to think about the fact that Marlene had been under the same roof as her for like fifteen minutes without her awareness of it. There's an alibi forming in her head, and she hopes to God it's believable.

"Just at a friend of mine's. Hannah, from across the street. I told Trevor."

The woman observes her silently.

" _From across the street..._ " Marlene repeated, looking out of the window to her right. "Considering the distance, I didn't think Hannah would take you back here by car."

Ellie freezes.

_Shit._

She saw. She knows it's a lie.

"That girl, was she Hannah?"

Jesus.

Marlene's voice was still so goddamn calm and authoritarian.

"Her name's Riley."

"That's far from Hannah. You've known each other long?"

Ellie shook her head. "We ... just met recently."

"So you lied."

She says it in a more matter-of-fact way than anything else, but it still sends Ellie spiraling down into a guilt-trip rabbit hole. The redhead replies with shameful silence. Green eyes downcast.

_I'm sorry._

Marlene shakes her head and speaks quietly, "Christ, Ellie..." and Ellie can feel the disappointment. Hell, she can practically smell it coming out of her. It's reeking.

And she hates it.

She hates doing this to her. It makes her feel ashamed, because it's such a stupid thing to be ashamed of. Sure, Ellie didn't like being too overprotected, but she doesn't want to be the reason why that woman has gray streaks in her hair. She doesn't want to be a liability.

Marlene pinches the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes, and breathes out. By the time she opens them, she spots some scratches near Ellie's elbows, the injuries she dealt with due to the bike incident. Marlene's eyes grow in concern.

"You're hurt." It's obvious that the coolness in her voice is starting to chip away. Ellie tries to hide the wounds, even though she knows there's no point.

"It's nothing."

"No, Ellie..."

"I'm _okay_ , Marlene. It doesn't sting as much." She doesn't like the way the woman's looking at her. Like she's some hurt puppy. The pent-up frustration is building. "Look, I'm just gonna head up and—"

But Marlene isn't listening. She starts to approach and presses for more. Ellie knows she's just caring for her, that Marlene concerned more than anything, but the way she shows it gets so _fucking_ intolerable.

"How did you get them?"

_God._

There really is no easy way out of this.

Ellie sighs. "I fell trying to ride a bicycle I found."

"That you just found, out in the _open_ _?_ Ellie, did you really think it would be that easy?"

"Of course not, but ... I had to try. I — I needed to get to Liberty Gardens."

"The mall?"

Marlene's gaining the heat. She's about to go off soon, Ellie can feel it.

"Yeah, but Riley brought me back with their car—"

"You were on your own getting there, and you thought using a bike _you just found_ would work. Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that is?"

"I know, I just - I needed to go so I could—"

" _No_."

Her voice is strong. It stops Ellie in her tracks.

"No - you had _no thought_ of your own safety." Not even ten minutes in, and Marlene's scolding her already. "What if the accident was much worse, then what? Is that the kind of stress you want to put on us? On me? Just for a trip to the mall, you're willing to put your life at _risk?_ "

"Marlene, I didn't go there for—"

"And once that was done, you thought it'd be a good idea to hitchhike your way back here. Jesus, Ellie, you _know_ how careless that is. I've seen how this world is, and you don't even know how some people are. You don't know how unpredictable they can _get._ That naivete of yours is going to put you in danger. It's going to get you—"

"Just _listen!_ "

Ellie's putting her fucking foot down.

"I just wanted to get my"—the exasperation in the redhead is so contained that it bursts out of her, practically splattering the whole room—"my _stupid_ Walkman back, okay? _This one!_ " She juts the little piece of outdated technology out for Marlene and the whole fucking world to see. Her voice is loud, and it's probably catching the attention of the other kids upstairs, but she doesn't give a flying fuck. "I left it at the mall the first time. And yeah, it might've not been the best idea to do it on my own, but—Jesus—I didn't want to _burden_ you, Marlene. You're always worrying and talking about the problems you're having and, shit, I just didn't want to fucking burden _anyone!_ "

Her hold on the Walkman is tight. She allows Marlene to soak in everything, Ellie breathes in shakily and blinks at her coldly before speaking again.

"I got it back. On my own." Her words are drawn slowly. "I'm alive. I'm _fine_. Let me leave it at that."

Silence.

Marlene tries to come around.

"...Ellie—"

But she doesn't hear want to hear another word of it.

She leaves the kitchen and storms her way up to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

**RILEY**

Evening messaging was always one of her favorite pastimes, mainly because her show wasn't on yet, but whatever. Tino's texting her right now.

_Tino 21:21:30 "u fucked up"_

_Riley 21:21:37 "No, i didnt"_

_Tino 21:21:48 "uh yeah. u did. too bad, she seemed real chill"_

_Riley 21:21:59 "is there anything else you have to say? i'm not missing GoT for this"_

_Tino 21:22:04 "u shoulda asked her if she wanted to hang out soon"_

_Riley 21:22:08 "I didnt even know if she wanted that"_

_Tino 21:22:12 "so what? lol jus saying u missed an opportunity"_

(Thanks, Tino. It's not like everything she does feels like a missed opportunity already).

_Riley 21:22:20: "Opportunity to what? braid her hair, invite her to teaparties and shit?"_

_Tino 21:22:26: "no freakass, the opportunity to get her NUMBER"_

_Riley 21:22:31: "Why the hell would i need her number?"_

_Tino 21:22:40: "what the hell do u think? u bet if that was me i'd be all over that lol"_

Riley frowns at the text before he goes ahead and starts typing her up again.

 _Tino 21:24:33 "_ _how do you know if you're going to see each other again?"_

_Riley 21:24:37 "I don't."_

_Tino 21:25:01 "LOL. yeah, you really messed up there"_

_Riley 21:25:09 "stfu?"_

Tino sends a heart emoji. She rolls her eyes.

Riley puts her phone down on the table, readjusting her position as she's lying on the couch. Even if Tino was generally a pain in her ass, he has a point. Riley has no idea when she'll be seeing Ellie again. She knows where she lives, but _hell_ , they've only introduced themselves to each other a couple of hours ago.

And they met _days_ before that. Considering that rate, it could take a year before Riley actually feels comfortable enough visiting her place.

Plus, it's weird.

Like, Riley doesn't even know why she wants to see her again even if they just did. She doesn't know why the girl's gotten so much of her attention. Ellie's just... strange. Something Riley hasn't seen before. The redhead wears huge jackets, has scratches on her arms (and acts like they're not there), has a scar on her eyebrow, owns outdated electronics, struggles with talking to others, and lives in a group home. Riley had no idea people like her could exist. It's crazy.

_And she's crazy enough to be interesting._

It's probably why she wants to see her again, as much as she doesn't want to believe it.

"Has Sam called you yet?"

Right. Sam was supposed to come home, only he hasn't and it's been eating at the two of them recently. Riley grabs her phone and checks the call history. "No. Thought he was gonna call you?"

"Ain't a call so far." There's a certain anxiety in Henry's voice, and Riley knows what it means.

Potential trouble.

He approaches the couch, and Riley sits up to offer him a seat which he takes promptly. It's almost getting late. The air is quiet and tense. Henry takes a look at the time on his phone, then sighs heavily, dipping his head back as he does.

"Kid's supposed to be home an hour ago."

"Lemme try calling him."

"Already did. Twice."

Riley purses her lips, unlocking her phone. Goddamn it, Sam.

"Third time's the charm, then."

* * *

**ELLIE**

Face down.  
Head in her pillows.

This is the position she uses when she's done with everything.

At least her bed doesn't feel like it's being burdened by her, despite her weight.

_Unlike fucking Marlene._

Ellie lets out a sigh. A deep, angry sigh that practically negates her whole room. She's mad at the world.

Again.

Because good things were just finally happening in her uneventful life. Real good things. But now her day's getting soured like it always does because Marlene's decided to bring her gloom along with her when she came to visit.

She could've given her a heads-up or something before coming, too. Like a fucking text before she went on ahead to wait for Ellie in the kitchen for God-knows-how _-_ long.

Christ.

For some reason, she still feels guilty for being upset at Marlene, even if she has every right to be. Ellie assumes that the woman's still down there, and she starts to wonder if she really did deserve the scolding. She did lie, after all. But if she didn't set up that alibi, then Trevor wouldn't have let her out, and Ellie would have never gotten her Walkman back, nor would she have met with Riley.

The name rings in her head like a bell.

_Riley._

Chocolate-eyed, calm and collected Riley. With her hoodie and her hair up in a tight bun. With her hands tucked in her pockets and a cool, silly smile. Ellie wouldn't be in such a mess if she hadn't met her.

She wouldn't have left her Walkman if she didn't bump into Riley in the first pla—

 _No,_ Ellie tells herself.

 _Don't even_ think _about putting this on her. You were the one being shy in the first place. It made you clumsy._

So why was she so fucking clumsy?

Was this her own fault?  
The fact that she didn't know better?  
The fact that she couldn't handle things normally or talk to people properly like everyone else?

The thought of it causes her hands to ball into fists, she clenches her jaw in frustration and presses her face against the pillow hard, angered by her own helplessness.

She doesn't even want to think about it.

Right now, she just wants to be done with everything.

* * *

**RILEY**

Sam wasn't answering.

It was enough to put both of them in a state of immense worrying, because they're already back in the car, ready to check over at the house where he was apparently staying in.

"What was that kid's name — Nathan Gentry?" It's dark and the rain hasn't stopped. Henry brightens the car's headlights and leans closer to the windshield. "The one with the brick townhouse from Philips street?"

Riley checks on the maps in her phone. "Yeah, it's sort of south from the West End district. Near the state house. You remember?"

"Yeah, don't need Google Maps. We can roll."

It's a quiet, tense drive getting there.

By the time they arrive, it's already past ten — three hours after Sam's supposed return, with no texts or calls whatsoever. The lights from the house are on, and Riley hopes to God that Sam was just having a sleepover and forgot to tell them about it. (That would have been too easy, though, and she knows that).

They exit out of the car with raincoats and umbrellas. A pale-skinned man wearing home clothes and a bathrobe emerges from the house after three knocks and a ring of the doorbell. He looks rather surprised to have people at this hour, much less at this weather.

"Can I help you two?" He's trying not to sound tired, there's a mug of coffee in his hand. Looking at it reminds Riley that it's been a while since she had her caffeine fix.

"Henry Everett," Henry says, jutting his hand out. The man takes his hand casually, shaking. "Tony Gentry. What brings you here?"

"I'm sorry for disturbing y'all at this time, but, uh, if I'm correct, you got a son named Nathan, right? See, my younger brother Samuel's a friend of his. Said he was going here for the afternoon and was s'posed to come home hours ago. Is he here with you?"

The man raises his eyebrows. "You mean Sam? Yeah, he was here. He and Nathan went out to head to some pizza place in the afternoon. They came back, and your brother left at around 7. Figured he was taking the T, you know?"

Shit. That's a red flag, all right. And he left _three hours_ _ago?_ Riley pictures Sam out in the rain, alone, and it churns her from the inside. Christ, the kid may be thirteen, but he's still a kid.

"Could we ask Nathan about where he might think he'd be?" Riley asks softly, tremors of worry hitting her stomach. Tony scratches his head, trying to find the right words, trying to lessen the anxiety he's giving the two of them. "I'm sorry to say this, kid, but Nathan's asleep right now. He's been having some sort of mean headache ever since they got back. He'd wobble and stir, so his mother gave him some medicine that puts him in deep. Tried waking him up for dinner, he's out cold. Wouldn't budge even if I tried now."

And that's it. He's useless to them, that's Henry and Riley's final red flag. It was no longer a matter of when Sam would come back, but _if_ he would come back. They have no idea where he is, and no way to contact him. The creeping panic's setting in now. Riley can sense the urgency rising and it doesn't sit well with her at all.

"No, something ain't right," Henry says anxiously, but it sounds like he's muttering it to himself. He brings out his phone frantically and checks his messages. Tony's visibly worried, he takes a look at Henry and shifts his gaze to the girl. "Has he called you at all?"

Riley shakes her head, she's got her phone out now too. "No, sir. That's why we came here."

"He stopped replying to my messages at 6:30. Last he said was that he'd be home soon." Henry's too taught and his voice rickety, Riley tries to soothe him by rubbing his arm, like she's always done when he was close to a state of panic. Henry's no stranger to the attacks, and the girl's been trying to make it easy for him for as long as she could remember.

Nate's father is putting the pieces together. Then it hits him. An expression of confusion changes to complete apprehension. A horrible feeling of fear grips and freezes across Riley's chest.

"Oh, no... I ... I can't imagine how this all is for the two of you." Tony pauses for a moment, thinking, before he has an idea. "Why don't you come in, call the authorities, and maybe I can try to wake Nate up to see if he's got any—"

Henry's phone starts ringing. A call in the dark.

He answers it without missing a beat and immediately puts it on speaker.

"Hello?" They all dread for a reply.

A pause. Then there's a hard, authoritarian voice on the other end. "Apologies for the late disturbance, am I speaking to Mr. Henry Everett?"

Fuck. Fuckity fuck. _Fuck. Please don't tell me it's a cop._

"Yes, it's him speaking." Henry's words are tiny and withdrawn. Like they've been chewed up and stomped on.

"Mr. Everett, this is Officer Barnes of District A-15 of the Boston Police Department," he stops momentarily, and it's enough to sink Riley's heart down into her chest. She has an idea of what it could be, but she doesn't even want to think about it. _No,_ she thinks. _Don't continue. Just stop. End the call._ But it doesn't, and she waits.

They all wait. In the dark, standing there. The dim streetlamp accompanies the Legacy as the roar of the rain crashes down on them. The short silence is unbearable.

Until.

"Your next of kin, Samuel Everett, has been in an incident."


End file.
